


Until the Earth Swallows My Bones

by nhixxie



Series: Earth and Bones [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, maybe in a sequel installment but today all i want is medieval fucking, picture this: a fantasy AU but with plot holes i don't want to fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhixxie/pseuds/nhixxie
Summary: “You do not mean to kill me?” Alec sputters, scrambling to his feet. “Have you forgotten, mortal?” The man asks, “A dragon is weak for beautiful things.”Alexander Lightwood is sacrificed to a dragon god. However, there are sacrifices gods must make as well, and the one Magnus makes, he will live with forever.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Earth and Bones [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866649
Comments: 45
Kudos: 485





	Until the Earth Swallows My Bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mitchellhp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitchellhp/gifts).



> Thank you so very much to Michelle (@m_lugar) for commissioning this piece by donating to a BLM or Yemen related fund. And also for buying me eight cups of coffee ; u ; Trust that I used every bit to write this 10k monster that initially originated from a 1.5 k baby! I know we said arranged marriage dynamic, but I hope this still hits the spot! 
> 
> I've always wanted to write something fantasy-related and I'm glad to have done this for Malec.
> 
> I'm @nhixxie if you want to talk, and I follow #nhixxiefic if you're into livetweeting.
> 
> Enjoy!

The legend is as follows:

A dragon god rests atop the rugged mountains of Idris. Through the mouth of the prophet-princess it speaks to, it demands offerings of gold and emerald stones to be placed at the mouth of its cave. It must be done before the full face of the moon presents itself. 

Above the slumbering kingdom of Idris, the moon waxes gibbous. 

The day of sacrifice is upon them.

The warm morning sun breaks past the undulating hills that form the horizon, spilling yellow light onto the bluish-pink of dawn.

Alec has been awake long before the sun had decided to stir.

He stands in the middle of the small field of corn owned by his father. The small plot of land is all they have, but it allows them the clothes on their backs and the food on their table. The loud silence of the early morning is broken by the high-pitched chirps of crickets hopping along his feet. The wind blows and it sifts through everything around him, swaying stalks and rustling leaves against each other.

Alec’s eyes flutter close, relishing the feeling of sunlight on his cheeks.

The poets were right.

Death makes lovers of us all.

He hears the tearful whisper of his sister from behind him as he calls out his name.

“It is time.” She says, voice shaking like a leaf.

Alec turns and smiles small.

He takes her trembling hand when they walk back to the house.

The road to death is fragrant, an oddly familiar scent of pressed roses and white lilies.

Alec suppresses a shudder as glistening oil is poured over his body.

When the Lightwood siblings arrive home, they find their mother and father standing outside the rickety door of their house, eyes bearing the guilt and shame of parents who had failed their child. Alec stifles the urge to hold their hands and tell them _it’s alright_ , but they hold their own hands so tightly it blanches their skin moon-light white.

Isabelle desperately hangs onto him as if letting go would mean his demise. She is not wrong.

The rituals of preparation start right as Alec opens the door. Men in blood-red robes and golden ropes around their waists usher him in silently, stripping him bare and dipping him in bath tinged with milk and honey. They scrub his skin with hyssop petals, shading him a soft pink momentarily before it’s washed away. Alec watches the crushed flowers float on the water’s surface.

Alec refuses to feel shame as strange, uncalloused hands swathe perfumed oil across his chest and down his back. He does not flinch when palms fleetingly pass over his length, spreading fragrance over the skin.

When all is done, he is dressed in a tunic and a pair of trousers made of white linen.

Men who live in the comfort of their towering castles as the poor battle with hunger and famine put his shoes on for him.

If Alec isn’t to die today, he would’ve spat at their heads.

Except he is.

So, he does.

A small part of him hopes for retribution; a swollen lip or a broken nose, something to make him feel before he would be ultimately sacrificed to a false, fire-breathing god.

But one cannot offer a broken gift.

Alec remains untouched, and it’s almost as hideous as being beaten to the mud.

The noblemen of Idris send him to the top of Mount Chrysus in an ornate carriage carried on the shoulders of their strongest servants.

He is to be the final gift in a lavish parade of golden plates and opulent jewels. From above their procession is an unclasped necklace glinting under the afternoon sun, and Alec is its pendant so garish it should be atop a noblewoman’s breasts.

Alec has heard of the fire-breathing god through the praises sung by Idris’ red-robed priests. The hymns have been echoed through generations of their people, passing through mouths of serfs, knights, and lords alike. The Morgenstern king is the most faithful of them all; he who upholds the conventions that had been forged between the first Idridian monarchs and the divinity that resides within the mountain. His sister, with hair as red as the embers of burning firewood, speaks of the dragon god's power, its mortal mouthpiece. 

One day, the king’s faith finally turns into deranged fanaticism.

Alec remembers the day so clearly that it appears as a mirror image in his mind. He was selling their harvest from a few days ago at the village square when the royal guard poured in, horses thundering onto the cobblestone road. The king’s horse broke through the line of armoured knights and shouted into the air.

 _Rejoice, my people_ , he exclaimed, _for we are to provide reverence that has never been done before!_

_A human sacrifice! Pure of mind, body, and soul to appease the fire of our dragon god!_

A hollow whisper rose like thin smoke from the crowd. Alec felt a stone drop in his stomach.

 _Isabelle Lightwood, priestess of the Holy Order_ , he called out, and Alec saw with wide eyes his sister dragged to the middle of the square, _be filled with joy! Your life of servitude will finally be rewarded!_

His little sister, strong Isabelle, looked up at the mad king, her face as hard as stone. In her deep-red robes, she was blood in the middle of a silent square, unyielding. _Izzy_ , Alec thought then, the little girl who used to place flowers on the crown of his hair.

 _Go home_ , Alec said into her ear before he even realizes he’s approached her, _Run home, Izzy, now_.

She looked back at him with confused eyes and parted lips. _What are you doing?_

Alec’s voice boomed into the air like a war horn being sounded. _I will take her place._

The Morgenstern king laughed. _You are not pure—_

_I am untouched_ , Alec said firmly, _I will take her place._

The king snarled, _you do not decide for me, fool!_

Alec snarled back, the prospect of death removing the cloak of fear that hangs over his shoulders. _Do you think this dragon god will relish the death of his servant? I will take my sister’s place._

 _I do not bend to this dragon god’s will,_ he growled, _I do not bend to the will of a temperamental child demanding appeasement!_

The king regarded him with a quiet frown. He pulled at the reins of his horse and turns it around, his cloak purple and regal on his back.

_Then you shall die with those words on your tongue._

The last thing he remembered before being taken away was Isabelle’s helpless wails as her hands clawed onto his. It is what he hears as he is carried up the mountain in this gold-gilded box, hands and feet bound in chains. The sound never leaves him, as if he is cursed to eternally hear the pain of the person he loves the most.

Soon, he will not have to.

The afternoon sun that once beat down upon Alec’s back has dimmed into a soft, yellow glow as it sets beneath the horizon.

Alec shifts against the manacles that bind his wrists and ankles to the earth, forcing him in a position of humble genuflection. Golden ornaments, gems of emerald green, and jars of perfumed oil pile around him in a small hill of hedonistic opulence. The procession is long gone.

Alec pulls at his chains once again, as if doing so for the tenth time would loosen the metal stakes dug deep into the soil. It only presses the bands of metal against his wrists where purple bruises have already bloomed like bellflowers.

The sound comes with faintness at first, barely audible against the clanging of Alec’s chains.

But then it swells steadily, distant flapping growing into the sound of something unfathomably enormous moving repeatedly. It’s akin to a cloak beating against one’s back but immeasurably louder as if entire rooftops are being bent to the will of the wind. A sharp, growling roar pierces through the dull sound of large, leather wings beating in the air. The sound becomes louder and louder until Alec cannot take it anymore.

He gnashes his teeth and squeezes his eyes, head tucked away as something crashes before him, loosening the earth.

When he looks up, a large, golden-amber eye framed by black dragonhide regards him. Its scales undulate gracefully with every blink and every sniff of its gigantic nostrils. A steady growl broils within a swelled chest. The air around Alec warms instantly.

Alec’s heart stills and thrashes simultaneously within the cage of his ribs.

It doesn’t roar again, but it huffs a heavy exhale through its nose, sweeping hot wind. Gold topples onto the ground, clattering against each other noisily.

Even for a nonbeliever, Alec is enchanted. There is a freedom, he realizes, to accepting one’s death as imminent. You are free to see what is before you without the glaze of fear in your eyes. And without terror, Alec sees the dragon god for what it is—breath-taking.

The dragon moves back, standing on its claws as tall as it can, leather wings spreading majestically behind it to its widest breadth before bright orange fire consumes it from inside out, swirling around its gigantic form until the flames dwindle.

Where the dragon used to be, a man stands.

His skin looks warm under the fiery red of the setting sun, the swells of his muscle glistening with perfumed oil. He walks as if nothing tethers him to ground, his footfalls quiet as his feet strike the earth. When he is close enough, Alec recognizes the scent of pressed roses and white lilies mingling with the smell of dwindling ash. He gazes at him with eyes undecipherable.

Alec refuses to flinch when a finger touches his chin and tips his head back.

“You are not a believer.” The dragon god muses as he looms over him.

“I am not.” Alec seethes, his anger coming back to him in waves for reasons he cannot fathom.

“Then why have you come to me?” He asks, unfazed by Alec’s contempt.

Alec breathes out, gritting, “That is a question only your Morgenstern king can answer.”

The dragon god leans back slightly. He admits, “Madness lies in the morning star bloodline.”

“And yet you make covenants with them.” Alec hisses.

The dragon god smiles. There is a seed of something undecipherable in the way he bares his white teeth, not evil but not good, as if he is the tempestuous space where both meet. His thumb passes over the wetness of Alec’s mouth.

He presses softly.

“I am centuries old,” he murmurs, “Do not anger me.”

The dragon god’s fingers leave Alec’s lips, and the lingering touch it leaves sears into Alec's skin like an eternal memory. The god’s hands touch the manacles that tether Alec to the earth. With a burst of fiery magic, the metal collapses upon itself. His bindings fall onto the dirt with a dull thud, the sound mingling with the dragon’s barely audible footfalls as he rises to his feet and walks away. Alec wrings his bruised wrists, confused.

“I will take what I am owed.” The dragon god says as his figure grows smaller and smaller, “But I will not take a man who comes to me unwillingly.”

“You do not mean to kill me?” Alec sputters, scrambling to his feet.

“Have you forgotten, mortal?” The man asks, “A dragon is weak for beautiful things.”

Alec feels warmth on his cheeks upon the words. He expected no compliment from a powerful god. He expected no mercy, either. He could run back to his family where he belongs.

“If I leave,” Alec calls out shakily, “Will my sister be spared?”

The dragon god stills for a fleeting moment.

“That is a question only your Morgenstern king can answer.” He says.

It is his final farewell. He disappears into the mouth of the cave.

When the dragon god looks over his shoulder, a mortal man follows him into his abode.

Treasure shimmers in rising mountains around them, and from above their heads, a beam of sunlight passes through a large opening and illuminates a sea of gold coins.

Alec squints at the harsh brightness of it and turns away. He instead watches as the dragon god’s bare feet strike sheets of basalt as he walks up the sloping floor of the cave he calls his home. Columns of geometric rock rise majestically from the ground and form the walls, shiny and ink-blot black. A spreading of fur and patterned carpets stand out against the ebony basalt, dotted with golden plates of half-eaten fruit and chalices of red wine.

When they reach the top of the cave, the ground is covered with thick bedding of brown fur and blankets of deep red weaved with glinting beads. Alec is reminded of why the priests bathed him with milk and honey, and why every part of him was anointed with fragrant oil.

A sacrifice could be used in any way before its ultimate death.

The dragon god turns to him.

“Will you give yourself to me?” He asks, unwavering. Color rises high in Alec’s cheeks.

“No.” He mutters, brow furrowed.

“Then you have no need for that dagger.” The god says knowingly, and Alec’s fingers tighten behind his back, around the short hilt that peeks over the waist of his trousers.

The dragon god lays himself upon his bed, lines of muscle melting into relaxation as sleep starts to claim him. “I will not take you by force.” He murmurs, “You have my word.”

“Where do I sleep?” Alec asks fumblingly.

“Where ever you wish.” The god answers, words muffled against soft fur, “Beside me, if you so desire.”

Alec looks out at the wide expanse of the cave stretching out before him, his new home. He picks a spot far from the slumbering god and curls into himself, dagger clutched tightly within his hands.

When he wakes up, it is to the loud flap of dragon wings.

He blinks sleep from his eyes and he catches sight of the dragon god taking to the air, spiked tail whipping behind him.

Alec wonders where he goes.

Alec is skinning a dead calf he finds at the foot of the mountain when the dragon god comes out of his cave one afternoon.

“Do you believe the food I provide to be poisoned,” The man asks, amusement pulling the corner of his lips, “That you feel the need to hunt for your supper?”

Alec presses his mouth together, the edge of his knife scraping the skin off muscle and sinew.

“Forgive me if I doubt feasts conjured from thin air.” He mumbles, “Besides, this is bedding.”

The man laughs openly, and the sound both strikes Alec with awe and rises the heat of embarrassment high on his cheeks. The god knows how to laugh, he thinks. It’s a song he will not forget, even if it comes at the expense of his pride. Alec remembers his adamant refusal of sharing the dragon god’s bed, even if it meant shivering at night with his back to the cold ground.

“Alexander,” the dragon god says his name like he’s known it for years, “I promised not to touch you. I keep my vows.”

The dragon god murmurs, “If I didn’t, I would have burned the Morgenstern empire to the ground a long time ago.”

Alec’s knife stills beside him when he speaks. “How do you know my name?”

The god reflects in the memories in his aged mind, and when he speaks it is devoid of sharp edges and pointed corners. He might even be speaking true.

“Your sister prays for you every day.” He says, “She prays for you even now.”

Alec’s mouth is dry when he answers back. “You listen?”

The dragon god answers as if it’s a truth that has been in existence since the dawn of time.

“Who will if not I?”

Alec’s fingers tighten and untighten upon the hilt of his blade, calloused hands grazing the worn-out leather. It is his mother’s knife. She pressed it into his hands the day the red-robed men took him from his home. It is her final wish of desperation— _please, live_.

“Do you answer?” he whispers unintentionally, eyes glassy.

The dragon god is silent until he isn’t.

“I do not.” He says, “Such is the machinations of faith. And there are rules of the creation that even a dragon god cannot break.”

Alec grips his dagger in his fingers once again and resumes his work. The fur hangs from a hoof and is nearly done.

“You know my name,” Alec says out of bravery or stupidity, he does not know, “What is yours?”

The dragon god looks at Alec as if no one has deigned to know his person before. Alec has never seen the man stumble on his sentiments until today.

“I would like to know what to call the being I am to spend eternity with,” Alec mutters, ripping the fur harshly from the animal carcass.

The dragon god towers before him, an aged, pillar of power set ablaze. His eyes have seen empires rise and fall, civilizations consume themselves wholly from the inside with their hunger for power. He has survived them all, ruled every single one, an omnipotent figure in an ink-blot sky. Even so, at this moment, he looks small.

The poets were right.

Names have unspeakable power.

And the dragon god holds his like the most priceless treasure atop his hills of gold. 

Just when Alec thinks he will not get an answer, the god speaks.

“Magnus.” he says softly, “My name is Magnus.”

Alec lets the name anoint his mind like baptismal oil, warm and fragrant.

“It’s beautiful,” he admits.

Magnus’ mouth moves, a corner quirking into a barely-there smile. If it turns out to be a vivid hallucination, it’s one Alec doesn’t mind.

It is the afternoon when Magnus takes to the sky, the sun making the scales off his back glimmer in shifts of soft purples and luminescent greens.

He doesn’t tell Alec where he goes, but when he comes back, he bleeds from a gash that splits the skin and muscle of his shoulder. Magnus heals himself with a fiery glow that pulsates from his palm even before Alec could quietly ask what happened.

He crawls into bed wordlessly, and Alec does the same in the small comfortable corner he has created for himself.

As Alec lays his head on his arm, he can’t help but worry as to what kind of powerful being could hurt a god.

Alec awakens the same night with amber eyes bearing into his, a stark contrast to the silvery moonlight that passes through the cave’s opening above them. Alec feels fingers flit against locks of his hair, the touch tracing the curve of his ear, breaching the line of his jaw, until the pad of a thumb presses softly on the bed of his lips.

Magnus looks incandescent in the dark. It is as if he is eternally ablaze, his soft embers readily growing into roaring fires when need be. He bears a beautiful face and with it a body defined by swells of muscles and taut lines. The wound he healed leaves no scar, the only evidence of its presence the slight tinge of red left by his drying blood.

If dragons are weak for beautiful things, then Magnus must be enchanted by his own reflection.

Alec could almost see the way Magnus' breaths pass through his slightly parted lips.

“Will you give yourself to me?” Magnus murmurs.

His fingers leave Alec’s mouth and follow the muscle that carves from Alec’s throat as he breaths sharply. It lands on the first button on the tunic that he wears, softly fumbling it open. It shifts to the next.

Alec awakens, fully this time.

His hand comes up to Magnus’, gripping his wrist. His touch shakes, not with fear, but with anticipation, one he cannot bring himself to accept.

Not yet.

“No,” he says through a trembling breath.

Magnus’ hands stop. He does back the button than he had undone, patting it flush against Alec’s skin with the palm of his hands.

“I understand.” He says.

Magnus rises and slips into his sheets. When the rise and fall of the god’s shoulders signify the claim sleep has placed upon him, Alec frustratedly fists his cock, lips pressed together into silence, until he has found release.

The poets were right, Alec thinks.

Pride is man’s greatest undoing.

Dragon magic is enchanting.

It burns within Magnus’ palms like orange embers of a hearth, escaping into the air in warm wisps. It slithers around his limbs like burning snakes. Magnus molds his fire within his hands into undecipherable shapes and insignias. He conjures heavy rainfall when the air is heavy with humidity, and invokes unfathomable power to move Idridian hills to pass time. He heals his secret wounds he suffers from secret battles he never talks about.

Today, he magics an entire feast before him, intricately patterned carpeting laden with bowls of fruit, jars of honey, and a plate of chicken roasted over a fire. He tips wine into his chalice, sipping languidly as he lays himself across a spreading of fur.

If Alec isn’t so irate, he would almost consider Magnus the most scrumptious part of the feast.

But he is, so he stubbornly nibbles on the berries he foraged two days ago.

“Plenty of food to go around, Alexander.” Magnus hums, his chalice settled against his lips.

Alec rolls his eyes. “I can see.”

Magnus takes pleasure in his stubbornness, Alec knows. It is apparent in the way his mouth curls into an amused smirk.

“You need not starve eating stolen root crops and days-old fruit.” He says nonchalantly.

“It is your smugness that makes me want to die of starvation,” Alec grumbles, sharply tossing a spoiled berry to the side.

Magnus relishes Alec’s displeasure. “You know better to criticize a god for his hubris.” He says pointedly, “It is like scolding a bird for flying.”

“At least a bird does not speak.” Alec huffs, “Makes it infinitely less annoying.”

A small noise comes from Magnus’ mouth, and Alec realizes it’s an aborted laugh. It makes him want to sourly tip over the god’s wine and throw his fruits to the ground, but he is _so hungry_. His bullheadedness has led him to survive on berries and rainwater for the past few weeks. He is used to starvation; he is of peasant stature after all. But at least at home crops grow, and there’s relief in sight.

Here, it is his egotism that will be the death of him.

“What is it the poets say?” Magnus’ eyes glint with delight, “ _Pride is man’s greatest undoing._ ”

A boulder drops within Alec’s stomach. He sputters, “What did you say?”

Magnus grins, a cat more than the dragon god that he is, one that has caught its prey between its claws. He relishes in the satisfaction of seeing Alec’s cheeks warm like a rising sun as he languidly drinks from his cup again. His tongue swipes down to catch the drop of wine that hangs from the ledge of his lip.

“ _Pride is a man’s—_ ”

“You were eavesdropping!” Alec accuses, and Magnus tries for a nonchalant shrug.

“I was heeding prayers and yours tangled with others.”

Alec hisses, “I was not praying!”

“Oh, pardon me, Alexander.” Magnus says, his tone rising and falling like singsong teasing, “But _oh, by the gods_ sound very much like prayer to me.”

Magnus smirks in victorious pleasure and Alec wishes a swift death.

“I wish to be struck dead.” Alec says in disbelief, shaking his head, “If you truly are a god, grant me this one wish.”

“Who will entertain me so thoroughly if I took your life?” Magnus asks with false innocence, but the next words he says with truth, “Nothing is more delicious than the color that rises on your cheeks.”

The words cause its intended effects, and if Alec is any warmer he would be ablaze.

“Stop teasing.” He pleads, hands to his face, “I beg of you.”

“Then eat.” Magnus says, “Eat, and I stop. I promise.”

Alec stifles a helpless moan. It takes a drawn-out moment before he stands from his corner of the cave, crosses the space between them, and settles himself onto the carpet of Magnus’ place of eating. He huffs a stubborn exhale and picks grapes from its stem. Magnus’ smirk grows as Alec takes the small globes into his mouth, chewing quietly.

“Good?” he asks, taking another sip from his goblet.

Alec gives him a disgruntled nod.

“Perfecting the art of conjuring food has been one of my greatest accomplishments,” Magnus says, smiling into his cup.

“You should perfect the art of wearing clothes too,” Alec grumbles.

Magnus laughs loudly, wine splashing over his bare front.

For the first time since they’ve met, Magnus dresses his naked body.

Alec looks out into the darkness that backdrops the mouth of Magnus’ cave.

The moon has long risen, the pendant in the starred necklace of the night sky, and yet, he has not come home. 

Alec suspends the worry that crawls within the pith of his chest and instead busies his hands with his dagger. He sheathes and unsheathes, letting the sound buoy his thoughts away. Magnus is a dragon god. If he cannot keep himself safe, no other being can.

Alec’s nails dig deep into the hardened leather of his blade, mind stilling.

He tucks it in the scabbard he had made from the leather of a dead fox and fastens it around his waist. He plucks one of the torches on the wall.

He begins his search.

The forest at the foot of the mountain is thick and impossibly dark at the dead of night, and Alec hopes the fire he holds in his hands could tide him over until he finds who he seeks.

The foliage above him rustles with the sweeping wind, mingling with the loud sound of crickets hiding in the bushes. Small animals dart across the earth, beady eyes glowing when Alec shines his torch their way. Leaves crunch beneath his every footfall, and he is careful to step over writhing tree roots peeking over the forest floor.

Alec doesn’t know why he has decided to do this.

A mortal has no stake in the well being of a god, and Alec is almost sure that if he is the one in peril, Magnus would carry on with the eternal life his immortality has gifted him. In the face of timelessness, Alec’s seventy years is a mere blip in time. The point where their lives have intersected is fleeting, and soon their lines will pass, yet another mere memory in the aged mind of an all-powerful being.

Alec is nothing but a vessel for companionship. An amusing toy to pass the time.

And when Magnus finally hears a yes to the question he asks, and he finally takes the purity he sees in a mortal body, their covenant will be no more.

It is nearly a good thing, Alec thinks. When Magnus lets him go, he might not be able to return to his family, but he can have his agency. He can start a solitary life in a nearby town, far enough for the Morgenstern king to not catch sight of him, but close enough for Alec to safely watch his family from afar. He will work until he has currency to own a small parcel of land and then he will farm for a living, just as he did before. It’s a life he could learn to love.

 _Nothing tethers you to that cave_ , a whisper reminds him in the back of his mind, _Magnus has never denied you your freedom_.

_It is you who chooses to stay._

_Why do you choose to stay?_

Alec squeezes his eyes at the words. He banishes them and tries to forget the grain of truth that is embedded deep within.

A broken whimper slices into the thick silence. Alec runs, his feet striking the earth heavily. It is over the large thick root of an old oak that he finds Magnus’ human form.

He is beaten and battered. He breaths heavily from open lips, the bottom split like the sweet fig Magnus had torn in half their last supper together.

He bleeds from wounds on the outside, blood-red seeping into the earth below. He bleeds from wounds on the inside, sweeping patches of purple-blue gathering under his skin.

When Alec lands forcefully onto his knees, his hands hover over the broken man, wanting so desperately to do something but not knowing what. Panic surges through his veins, rushing rivers of turbulent waters all leading to an enraged ocean that is his heart.

“What happened to you?” he breathes out, “Who did this to you?”

Magnus’ blood-soaked eye flutters open, barely.

“Alexander..?” he chokes out, bloody spit falling to the dirt.

“What do I do?” Alec demands helplessly, “Magnus, what do you need me to do?”

Magnus’ broken fingers reach for Alec falteringly, every minute movement contorting his face with unfathomable agony. He whispers brokenly.

“I need.. your strength..”

Alec hurriedly drops the torch to the dirt and carefully encases Magnus’ injured hand within his. The flame dies out immediately, and through the darkness of the woods and his hammering heart, Alec speaks in a reverent whisper he’s never used in any prayer to any god in existence.

“Take what you need.”

Alec feels Magnus’ fingers tighten around his.

A pulsation of ember orange beats within their pressed palms momentarily, dying down into nothing once again. And then another pulsation. And another, and another until it thuds within their hands like a heartbeat alight—and then suddenly, a roaring fire consumes them both.

A shocked yell escapes Alec’s mouth, flinching instinctively as angry red flames lick up around him. He expects it to burn as any fire would, the terror of his skin crackling and peeling away curling his body into a frightened ball, but it doesn’t. It is encompassing, thunderous, but it doesn’t hurt.

Instead, Alec feels the unquestionable presence of Magnus all around him. It feels like his fingers combing through Alec’s hair that one night. It feels like his amber eyes setting unconsciously on the bed of Alec’s lips this morning.

It feels like the laugh he lets out when Alec disgruntledly eats the food Magnus had prepared.

What is siphoned from Alec’s body in wisps of blue is replaced by pieces of Magnus that he could spare in return. And all he can spare in his state of near-death are memories.

Alec realizes all of them are of himself.

And then he sees fleeting pictures of him in his mind, ones that he doesn’t recognize—of him in clothes he had never owned, of him in places he had never seen—and Alec wants to grasp them in his hands and look at them closely. But the flames grow weaker until the only evidence of it is the soft glow of orange between their pressed palms. When the fire completely recedes, Magnus is whole again, unbroken but exhausted. His hand limply slips from Alec’s.

The last magic Magnus does is light an impervious flame that hovers in the air.

“I cannot move,” he mutters, “I am sorry. I cannot fly us.”

Alec easily takes Magnus onto his back and rises to his feet.

“A god should not apologize to a mortal man,” Alec says under his breath as he starts his trek back to the edge of the forest.

“I thought you do not believe in me?” Magnus says in inhales and exhales, his breath fanning across Alec’s neck. It raises the hair that lives there.

“I don’t believe in blind worship.” Alec quietly answers, “The person that is you, however,”

Magnus’ eyes flutter open, blearily awake.

“Perhaps.”

When Magnus awakens, he is sprawled across his bed, cheek pressed to the soft fur of his bedding.

He plants his palms and pushes himself up, his newly sewn body weak and aching. That is the cost of regeneration. Every renewed string of muscle feels like a fawn learning how to walk.

He manages to sit up at the very least.

It will take a while to do anything else.

When his eyes take in his surroundings, he finds Alec curled at the edge of his bed. One of Magnus’ jewel-encrusted bowls is filled with cool water, white linen dipped within it. A similarly sized square has been ripped from the tunic he has worn since the day Magnus found him chained to the ground. Magnus touches his forehead and feels the remnants of cold water on his skin.

 _Alexander_ , Magnus thinks, dragon heart tender, _how surprising you are_.

  
“I refuse.”

Alec rolls his eyes. “I refuse your refusal.”

Magnus huffs, “Then I refuse your refusal of my—”

“Magnus,” Alec presses irately, “You are thousands of years old. Stop acting like a child.”

Magnus glares at him, amber eyes framed by a furrowed brow. His eyes flicker down to what Alec has in his hand, and then back at the mortal before him.

“I am only centuries-old..” he mumbles, hands balled into fists.

Alec smirks, “How many centuries have you been saying that old line?”

“I am a dragon god,” Magnus thunders demandingly, “I will not be shamed like this!”

Alec raises a curious brow. “What are you to do? _Smite me_?”

Magnus kicks his legs out from under his blanket, grumbling. “This is the last time I give a mortal any form of power over me. No more.”

“I’m assuming that mortal is me?” Alec asks, mouth pulling into a small smile.

“Not quite, Alexander,” Magnus sneers, eyes narrowed, “By mortal I mean the rabbits outside our cave fucking endlessly since the dawn of time.”

Alec doesn’t admit it, but his heart softens. _Our cave_.

He decides to assert said power.

“Eat,” Alec says seriously, “Please.”

Magnus looks at up at Alec through a thick splay of lashes. His gaze doesn’t miss the worried manner Alec’s fingers grip at the bowl in his hands. Worry on Alec is an image he has grown to despise.

“I will try.” He murmurs.

Magnus takes the bowl and brings the spoon to his lips with shaking hands. The simple task takes much of his finite well of energy. He takes a small tentative sip. His tongue swirls the thickened broth within his mouth, gulping it.

“Peasant soup,” he admits, “Exceeds my expectations.”

Alec smirks triumphantly as he rises to his feet to return to the fire where a pot simmers gently.

Magnus calls out defensively, “This does not mean I am not returning to conjuring feasts when I get my strength back!”

Alec is not a heartless being. So, when he returns to Magnus and finds an emptied bowl, he doesn’t jest. Instead, he replaces the bowl with one that he had already filled to the brim.

When he turns, he hears Magnus clamber to reach for it.

Alec pins his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and his laugh dissipates into a smile.

Even the all-powerful feels hunger, after all.

Magnus doesn’t tell Alec what had happened to him in the forest that night.

Alec decides to wait a little longer.

Magnus regains his strength little by little.

Alec plays an important part in his recovery. It is his hands that make the food that Magnus slowly admits to enjoying. The same hands wipe the sweat on Magnus’ brow when a night fever takes hold of him. It is his hands that press upon Magnus’ shoulders when he is wrenched from sleep by unfathomable terror.

Alec watches nightly as the dragon god Idridians worship and adorn with golden treasures shakes in his sleep, torn apart by silent monsters that only show itself when his eyes are shut close.

Horrors of the mind are its own kind of fear, Alec knows. He has been in the throes of it before. And just as he didn’t know how to help himself then, he doesn’t know how to help Magnus now.

Alec realizes that Magnus isn’t all-powerful.

Because if he is, he would have had the power to banish the paralyzing thoughts that live in his head.

If he is, he would have the power to let himself sleep soundly.

One morning, Alec finds Magnus standing by the mouth of the cave, watching as the sun breaks through the ragged line of Idris’ horizon. Alec rises to his feet, bare feet padding against the basalt sheet floors. He stands beside Magnus.

“One day you will have to tell me,” Alec says quietly.

Alec wonders where he finds the audacity to speak to a god this way. Perhaps, it is because he knows the place he occupies in Magnus’ heart despite the fleeting nature of it. He knows here, with Magnus, he will not be harmed. He may even be cherished.

“One day.” Magnus says softly, “But not today.”

Alec takes it.

“No,” Alec says in disbelief, head shaking fervently.

A piercing grumble rolls within Magnus’ chest. His gigantic dragon eyes squint momentarily before regarding Alec again in a pointed stare.

“No, Magnus.” Alec presses, and when he does, Magnus responds with his tail sweeping into a curve. The dull end of it prods Alec forward by the shoulder.

“Stop that,” Alec demands, and Magnus prods again, impatient.

“Where do I sit?” Alec asks incredulously, “You are not soft, and I doubt a great dragon god would accept being saddled.”

Magnus’ nose flares at the mention of being tacked like a horse, eyes widening in offense. If he could, he would fold his arms across his chest with pride, but instead, his leather wings shake in disdain. He gives Alec one last prod, harder this time, and it makes the mortal stumble, knees buckling at the force.

“Stop!” Alec exclaims, “Alright! Give me a moment.”

Magnus rumbles in contentment as he lowers a shoulder to the ground. Alec gives him one last look of beseeching in hopes of aborting this ludicrous plan, but Magnus only grunts, hurrying Alec along. Alec sighs, yielding.

Alec attempts to map his way up, and he finds his path by clambering onto the colossal wing that stretches before him like the roof to a house. He climbs up the limb gingerly, careful not to press the soles of his shoes too harshly onto Magnus’ hide, and then swings his leg over the junction where the length of the dragon’s neck and torso meet.

Sharp spines line Magnus’ back. Alec nervously holds onto two.

Magnus looks back at him. _Are you ready?_

 _No, I am not_ , Alec thinks desperately but his pride stands in the way.

He nods small, and Alec knows Magnus is grinning.

Magnus starts to move beneath him in thunderous steps forward, so bafflingly powerful as he barrels towards the edge of the cliff. Magnus pushes off the earthen ledge of the mountain, and they sink into a nosedive before they could fly, the downward slope of Magnus’ trajectory curving upwards as he finally spreads his wings and lets the air underneath him buoy them upwards.

And then, they are flying.

Alec, the entire way down and then up, only pales, his lungs so wrung of air that he couldn’t spare any for a scream or two. He regains his voice only when they settle into a smooth glide, Magnus’ wings held aloft and skimming air.

“Where are you taking me?” Alec shouts through the wind that billows against them, and Magnus only grumbles lowly.

_Wait and see._

On the back of the dragon the world is different, and when Alec’s heart finally settles within the cage of his ribs, he takes it all in. Towering forest trees akin to legs of wandering, mythical giants are small and spindly from up above. The mountain that houses their cave home is draped with a lush cloak of deep green, sloping lines of treeless roads carved up its side. The river that skirts the foot of the mountain curves and coils like an obsidian snake slithering into the ocean.

It's beautiful, Alec thinks, but it doesn’t feel new. It’s like an image his mind has touched before, a familiar echo of a lucid dream.

Alec is not left to his thoughts for long. Soon, Magnus descends slowly, altitude dropping as his body tilts to one side. Alec grapples for anything he can hold onto as they glide in a wide curve around the side of the Idridian mountain’s northern face. Magnus rights himself and fans out his wings behind him suddenly, catching wind and flapping against it to slow them to a stop.

Alec squints, hands coming up to his eyes to shield him from the dust that billows below them, and when they alight onto the earth it is with a booming sound that shakes birds from treetops.

Alec breathes out, blinking in disbelief at what had just happened. Magnus gives him a slight shake, urging Alec to see where he has been taken.

“Alright,” he sighs, “Give me a moment.”

He clambers off Magnus’ back, and on shaky feet and buckling legs he lands. The sound of water finally reaches his ears, the source of it presenting itself when Alec walks around the dragon god’s colossal form. A tall slender waterfall drops from the edge of a towering cliff and onto a gorge, the water crystal-clear as it slithers down the bedrock and into a gentle stream.

Alec settles onto his knees and cups cool water in his hands. He lets it escape through the spaces of his fingers. Magnus settles on his hind legs, watching closely.

“Beautiful.” Alec whispers, his words lost to the sound of water striking water. He turns to Magnus, “This place is beautiful.”

“If you came with me to my adventures when we were children, you would have seen this all before.”

Alec whips his head to where the voice is coming from, heart thundering at the sound of it. He finds her stepping from behind a dragon’s wing, a red cloak draped over her shoulders. Black waves fall from behind her ears, color stark against the scarlet, ash and blood melded together.

“Izzy,” Alec breathes out, and immediately she is in his arms, pressed tightly against his chest, “Do not weep.”

“I am not,” Izzy says.

“Do not weep, or else I weep.”

Izzy hits him softly with a clenched fist, a laugh pouring from her lips. “I am not!”

“Why are you here?” he asks, appalled, “How did you know to come?”

From behind Izzy, a roaring fire ignites, Magnus’ human form emerging from the flames as he walks to the edge of the stream. The hem of his trousers turns a darker hue as wetness seeps through it.

“Someone who cherishes you,” Izzy says, eyes glinting knowingly, “Wishes for your happiness on your name day.”

Alec’s gaze rises to find Magnus’ form submerged halfway into the pool. He disappears beneath the surface as if he feels the eyes that search for him and from it, he wishes to hide.

“Come,” Izzy smiles happily, “I’ve brought a bit of home.”

Alec gulps the last remnants of cider from his cup, and when he finishes, he sighs in contentment. He wipes the back of his arm across his mouth, taking wetness from it.

“There is no better drink than mother’s apple cider.” He says, squinting up at the sun, “I’ve missed it terribly.”

Izzy chortles, “It misses you. The barrel seems to know it has lost its best drinker.”

Alec chuckles back, head shaking minutely. The cider is as delicious as he remembers it to be. The meat pie that sits in his belly has contented him fully. The blanket Izzy brings is one he remembers from home; it lived on the bedding of his old sleeping quarters. His fingers brush against the wool, feeling more than its texture as he lets the memories of his rickety house come back to him.

“How are you?” Alec asks gently, eyes longing, “How are mother and father?”

“We are carrying on.” She says, mouth quirking into a forlorn smile, “Attempting to. It is difficult.”

When Alec doesn’t find the will to answer, Izzy carries on.

“We all miss you.” She says softly, a trying smile on her lips, “I know you are safe, but the knowledge does not dampen the longing. Mother and father do not know. It is harder for them.”

Alec raises his gaze to meet Izzy’s. “How did you know I am safe?”

Izzy motions towards the gorge of the waterfall where a dragon god swims. He disappears behind the curtain, the last of what they see of him his feet kicking above the water’s surface.

“When I pray, he answers.” She says.

Alec dissents, brow furrowed. “You are mistaken. He answers no prayer.”

“He answers mine.” Izzy says simply, “Ever since you’ve been taken, I hear his voice. He calms my fears. By telling me you are safe, he alleviates my pain.”

Alec blinks at his palms, a feeling settling like stones in his stomach. He feels breathless.

“I cannot go home, Izzy,” Alec says instead, throat heavy with achiness, “The Morgenstern king will come for us all.”

Izzy exhales, finger scratching against the wooden surface of her cup.

“I understand.” She murmurs, “I may not have your presence, Alec, but I have your safety.”

She takes his hand in hers, pressing softly.

“For now, it is good enough.”

“How did you know today is my name day?”

Magnus’ eyes find Alec’s. Behind the waterfall, the rock is dry but slippery with moss, and it takes careful steps for Alec to finally reach the place where Magnus quietly sits.

Magnus answers cryptically, “You would be surprised how much I know about you, Alexander.”

“You are soaked.” Alec points out. He had scaled the side of the waterfall and managed to get away with a small whisking of water splattered onto his trousers.

“And you kept your clothes on,” Alec adds.

Magnus chuckles, “I did not think you would appreciate your sister being exposed to my nakedness, no matter how beautiful a sight it is.”

Alec settles himself onto the spot next to Magnus.

“You are right.”

“On which account?” Magnus asks smoothly, smirking, “The first or the second?”

Alec does not stop the roll of his eyes. “With jests like yours, you would make a good fool.”

Magnus’ eyes glint with wit. “And with stubbornness like yours, you would make a great king.”

“And yet we are neither.” Alec says, eyes watching the heavy shower of water before them, “Perhaps we are not as funny or as stubborn as we think we are.”

Magnus smiles slightly.

“Perhaps.”

They wallow in the comfort of their silence for a little while. This is their shared talent, Alec thinks. They are content with wordlessness when it comes to each other. Weeks and weeks of being each other’s sole company in a cave hidden in isolation has sharpened this skill.

“Magnus, what happened to you that night?” Alec asks so softly it’s almost imperceptible.

Magnus stills like he expects the question, but still feels surprised when it’s asked. His pointer finger and thumb rub circles around each other as if a piece of fabric is being felt softly between. There is no time more opportune than this for Alec to ask, even at the risk of straining Magnus’ generosity.

Alec wants to know.

He needs to know.

“Ships from Edom have been coming endlessly to lay claim on Idris since the dawn of time,” Magnus murmurs, “Did you know this?”

Alec’s brow furrows. “Yes. The battle of Brocelind beach where thousands have perished.”

“And thousands more would have died.” Magnus says quietly, “If not for a cunning king who carried the first Morgenstern name.”

“He knew of a god who is moved by treasure,” Magnus smiles slightly, “And unlike other kings, he knew that the value of a strong ally supersedes the value of gold.”

Magnus’ gaze is thrown far. He is steeped in his memories. “All of Edom’s military and naval might is easily laid to waste in a day.”

“I understand,” Alec slowly says, “But that was a long time ago.”

“That is true.” Magnus answers, nodding small, “But there are other kingdoms other than Idris, and those lands did not have the aid of a dragon god to smite their enemies. They soon rebuilt their forces, stronger than before.”

The line of Magnus’ jaw tightens.

“Since then, they have not stopped. Every fortnight they cross Idridian seas. And every fortnight they grow closer and closer.”

“What?” Alec whispers in disbelief.

“Idris is a jewel Edom will always want, Alexander.” Magnus mutters, “It is the pinnacle of their conquest. They will not stop until they get what they want.”

“Then why is it not known?” Alec’s voice rises as he speaks, the Morgenstern lie mounting his anger higher and higher, “Why are we all kept in the dark? Our ships have been docked in ports for decades, our soldiers drunkards and patrons of brothels—”

He stops.

The scales fall from his eyes and finally, Alec can see.

“You fight them?” he whispers in disbelief, “Alone?”

Magnus does not answer. There is shame in his eyes before he hides from Alec’s questioning gaze. He has never looked so desperately small as if the truth he has hidden for centuries diminishes the strength of his heart and the magic in his veins.

“We are both mere slaves of the Morgenstern king, Alexander.” Magnus says quietly, the smile on his mouth as bitter as ale, “Except I can never leave.”

Alec breathes out. He is angry, so painfully angry at the blindfold that has been removed from his eyes, but also so unfathomably sorrowful. He is wounded at the thought of Magnus fighting battles in the name of a mad king refusing to be unseated. His heart weeps at the intangible chains that force Magnus to come back home bleeding and wounded, in the brink of death.

Alec remembers the amusement he finds in amber eyes, the singsong of his voice as he jests a witty remark. Alec remembers how Magnus softens when Alec asks him if he had a name.

When Alec speaks, his voice shakes.

“What treasure is worth your life, Magnus?”

Magnus’ golden eyes bear onto Alec’s, and the weight of it stills the angry sea swell that rises within Alec’s chest. On Magnus’ lips, a small smile has made its home and it tells a story Alec couldn’t decipher. Alec doesn’t understand how the sight of such a smile—soft yet stirring—could feel so new yet so familiar at the same time.

“I have many treasures, Alexander,” Magnus almost whispers, “But this one, this one that has been stolen from me, the one that binds me to kings that enslave me, is one that I cannot live without.”

“It is part of me,” Magnus whispers with a voice breaks, “It is half of my soul.”

“And the painful death I will suffer is not in the hands of a hundred ships,” he nearly sobs, “It is that they have made you forget how much I love you.”

Magnus realizes what escapes his lips.

It is as if baptismal oil had been dropped on Alec’s forehead. It doesn’t bring clarity, but it brings perception. Every peculiar thing within Alec’s existence falls upon each other like tiles in a mosaic. He sees the image it starts to form.

The body remembers before the mind.

Alec’s hands shift before his thoughts could catch up to it. He reaches out and presses his hands against Magnus’ face, thumb grazing against the bone underneath his cheek. Alec feels the weight of Magnus’ longing press into his hands. He feels Magnus’ parched mouth searching for its first drink from the well of Alec’s palm.

Magnus gazes at him sorrowfully, longingly, but with an ember of hope that dares to grow into a flame. He is a castle that had crumbled into rubble, only now the man who could rebuild him now holds the first brick. Magnus’ fingers skim the length of Alec’s arm until he has Alec’s wrist gently within his grasp.

Alec shifts. He pulls Magnus closer, face angled, eyes fluttered close. Magnus journeys the distance between their mouths like a weary traveler longing so painfully for home. Alec is imperceptibly close, a breath away. Magnus walks the stone-lined path, stepping onto the porch; he holds the doorknob, and finally, twists it open—

“Alec, I must go home,” Izzy calls.

A short, soft breath huffs out of Alec’s lips.

“The sun is setting, I must go,” She calls again.

With eyes squeezed shut, Alec releases Magnus from his grasp.

“Alright,” he calls back shakily, “Wait for me.”

The corner of Magnus’ lips quirks into a small, sorrowful smile.

He watches as Alec rises to his feet and walks away.

“Take care of mother and father.” Alec whispers into Izzy’s cloak, “Be safe.”

Izzy smiles against his shoulder. “I will. Be safe too. Though, I am not worried.”

Alec presses her tighter against his chest before letting her go.

“You rumpled my cloak.” Izzy points out with a laugh.

“Priestesses should not be so materialistic.” Alec smirks, “Is that not what your Holy Order tells you?”

“I left. The moment they took you away.” Izzy says, gaze flickering onto Magnus’. She speaks pointedly, “I have come to realize they know nothing of the god they praise.”

Beside Alec, Magnus smiles small.

“Thank you for letting me see my brother.” She says gently.

Magnus’ shoulder shifts in a small shrug. “In safe places like these, I do not see why it should be the last.”

The promise of reconnection lights Izzy’s eyes with happiness. If she could hop on her toes and embrace the dragon god, she would. She manages to keep her composure and offer a solemn nod of gratitude instead. She mounts her horse and takes her basket from Alec who hoists it up.

Magnus draws a golden circle before him and it moves like a hurricane tipped to its side. “This shortens your journey back. It will drop you in the forest right at the edge of Idris.”

Izzy’s eyes widen in wonder. With a gentle nudge to the side of her horse, she ventures through the portal and into the other side. Alec watches her until she gallops away towards the visible clearing, hand waving goodbye.

The golden circle collapses within itself and dissipates into thin air. Before Alec could turn to Magnus, he has already let his fire consume him, running behind the safety of his dragonhide and the muteness it offers. He lowers his shoulder and Alec mounts Magnus hesitantly, hands gripping around the spines within closest reach. They take to the air in a gust of wind, and this time, Alec’s mind his so filled to the brim the turbulence fails to bother him.

When they alight, the sky is dark and the moon is high.

As Magnus returns to his human form, he keeps his thoughts behind sealed lips. His feet take him up the basalt slope that makes the floor of their home. Alec follows, eyes watching muscle tense and untense beneath the shirt of the man walking before him. They reach the landing, and the suffocating quiet brings Alec to his knees, hands reaching for empty chalices and used plates to put away.

Magnus skirts the edge of his bed, fingers fumbling at the button that holds the cuff of his sleeve together. When Alec finishes with his task, he stiffly rises to his feet.

There is nothing more painfully silent yet roaringly loud than this.

Alec cannot take it any longer.

“Magnus,” he finally speaks, words soft, “We must talk.”

The torches flicker weakly, casting dark shadows onto the mountains of golden treasure around them. It is no clearer than in this moment—with the dragon god’s head hung low and his once proud shoulders curled into himself like burning parchment—how meaningless it is.

Magnus’ shoulders rise and fall. “I am tired, Alexander.”

Fingers clench around the linen of Magnus’ tunic as Alec crosses the space between them, a voyaging ship.

“Look at me.”

The words strike Magnus’ heart the same way his feet strike the earth, heavy yet silent. Magnus turns despite his exhaustion; when half of your soul calls, you answer.

“Is it true?” Alec asks under his breath, “Do you love me?”

Shadows dance on Magnus’ face. He shakes his head, on his mouth a sorrowful smile, as if the answer to his question is so apparent it need not be asked. “From dusk until dawn. Until I sleep and never wake.”

Alec’s eyes soften. He reaches for the belt that holds his dagger and unbuckles it with gentle fingers, rolling it around itself. He tosses the bundled leather to the floor. Magnus gazes, dazed, at the work that is being done by Alec’s hands.

“Ask me your question,” Alec says, tenderly, breathlessly.

Magnus closes his eyes brokenly as if to look at him is to yield without hesitation. “Alexander, I beg. If you are untrue..”

Alec’s fingers wander up the sharp cliffs of Magnus’ jaw, skirting its edge dangerously but fearlessly. He presses closer, chest to chest, forehead to forehead, two tectonic plates touching. Alec breathes, wind sweeping across the valley of Magnus’ brow.

“Ask it.”

Magnus breathes once, a gentle breeze. Twice, a howling storm.

“Will you give yourself to me?” he asks softly.

Alec answers, thunder and lightning.

“Yes.”

They kiss like a hurricane touching down onto the earth. It is raging wind masquerading as heavy gasps, tearing trees from its roots. Their lips push and pull together in endless cycles like angry waves to a battered shore. But at the eye of the storm, in the silence of its center, Alec holds Magnus within his hands like he is more priceless than gold. Magnus has forgotten what it felt like to be treasured for more than what he is worth.

Alec breathes heavily, thoroughly swept away.

He guides Magnus to his bed as if he’s done so a thousand times.

He whispers a solemn prayer, the first he has ever said.

“Make me remember.”

The body remembers before the mind.

When Magnus noses into the space of Alec’s neck and leaves a tongue-laced kiss on its surface, Alec feels it familiar. When their chests splay together and Alec counts the flicker of Magnus’ dragon heart against his, it is with an echo of what was before.

 _Alexander_ , Magnus murmurs lovingly.

 _Part of my heart_ , he says, _half of my soul._

Magnus stokes the embers that lie within Alec with every loving drag of his fist over Alec’s cock. Magnus buries into him down to the hilt repeatedly, endlessly, like a wheel that never stops. With every snap of the Magnus’ hips and every helpless gasp that falls out of Alec’s mouth, the quiet embers slowly flare into a fire so strong it could very well come from Magnus’ mouth.

 _From dusk until dawn_ , Magnus breathes out, _until I sleep and never wake_.

 _Magnus_ , Alec whimpers softly, reverently, _Magnus._

Magnus carries Alec through, fucking relentlessly and fisting his cock until he comes in ropes of pearl white. Alec curls into the curve of Magnus’ neck, forehead slick with sweat as he cries out his release through gritted teeth and tightly squeezed eyes. Magnus cards gentle fingers through Alec’s hair, mouth to his forehead, kissing softly.

Magnus holds Alec against his chest.

“Rest.” Magnus murmurs.

When Alec attempts to stubbornly reach for the god’s cock to finish what had been started, his hand is knocked away.

“Rest, I say,” Magnus says admonishingly but not truly. There is laughter enfolded in his words.

A huff escapes Alec’s lips and Magnus chuckles.

“There is plenty of time in the world.”

“Your bedding is soft.”

Magnus looks down onto where Alec is pressed tightly against his chest, stirred from sleep. When Alec blinks, Magnus feels long lashes sweep against his skin.

“Mine gave me a humped back.” He mumbles.

Magnus smiles, fond. “I will not be blamed. I offered you my bed from the day we first met.”

Alec snorts. His fingers strum the shifting lines of muscles carved upon Magnus’ back. “Yes. How noble of a god to offer to share his sheets.”

Magnus laughs, his breath sweeping through the waves of Alec’s hair. It reminds him of a placid sea. So, like a good captain, he lets his fingers set sail. A hum of sleepy contentment rumbles through Alec’s chest.

His Alexander. Half of his soul, Alexander.

Magnus’ precious treasure breathes, hands stilling.

“I don’t remember, Magnus,” Alec whispers mournfully, “I wish the memories would come, but it will not.”

Magnus’ touch alights onto Alec’s chin as he tips it up. He gazes into the hazel-green wells of his eyes, the colors of the earth.

Magnus murmurs, “I do not care for what has passed. There is so much more to come.”

Magnus passes his thumb over the wetness of Alec’s mouth. He presses softly.

“I love you,” he says reverently, a god in prayer, “And you need not return the words to me now. I simply know how I feel, and I want it known.”

Magnus’ eyes soften with unfathomable aching.

“You are not a sacrifice.” He says, “You have your freedom if you so choose to leave. I do not wish to be happy by your side when you are unhappy by mine.”

Alec will not have it. He clasps a hand against the back of Magnus’ neck and culls him into a kiss, lips parted, tongue pressing soothingly. He swallows the soft exhale of relief that escapes Magnus’ mouth and takes it for his own.

When their lips come apart, Alec whispers firmly, “I choose to stay. I am anchored, and I will not sail away.”

Magnus allows himself reprieve. He nods small, brow softening. A small smile curves the line of his lips.

“Alright.”

Alec gathers Magnus against him, nearly impossibly close. He noses into the basin that makes of Magnus’ collar bone, mouth pressing against the depression it makes.

“One day you are going to have to tell me,” he mutters.

Magnus traces the curl of hair on Alec’s head with a gentle touch.

One day, Magnus will tell Alec about the omnipotence of the universe. He will tell him about how it had taken pity on a dragon god’s painful, lonesome existence, and the salve it had offered to heal the wound.

Magnus will tell Alec about the way a dragon god’s soul had been cleaved in half and offered to a greater power, and in return, he is given the love of his immeasurably long life. He will tell him how many empires they had seen rise, and how many civilizations they had seen fall.

Magnus will tell Alec about the red roses and white lilies that adorn their bed.

He will tell him about the milk and honey on their tongues as they kissed.

And in the end, Magnus will tell Alec how much he had loved him. How much he still loves him. How much he will love him until the earth swallows his bones.

Alec breathes, his chest rising and falling, taking Magnus away from the memories of the past and reminding him of what he has in the present.

“One day,” Magnus says, smiling small, “But not today.”

**Author's Note:**

> Plot holes? Shh. Maybe in a sequel I may never write lmao
> 
> I'm @nhixxie on twitter and follow the tag #nhixxie fic as well.
> 
> See you on the next one!


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